


The Burned Pages

by AloeAloe



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Awkwardness, Bob is my Idol, Humour, Irritable Harry Dresden, John’s Magic Fingers, M/M, Slash, Smug as Hell Johnny Marcone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-09-01 05:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20253073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AloeAloe/pseuds/AloeAloe
Summary: Think you’re having a bad day?  Trust me, you’re not.  Find yourself abducted and magically handcuffed to Johnny Marcone, then you’re having a bad day.Complete.





	1. Into the Fire

“True friends stab you in the front.” Oscar Wilde

* * *

Everyone, and I mean everyone, has a few skeletons rattling around in their closet. In other words, I don’t think that there’s a person alive who wouldn’t like a few pages from the book of their life promptly ripped out, scrunched up and burned. This story is one of those. As much as I would like to erase this particular episode in my illustrious life from my memory, I can’t. It’s stuck in my mind with the vivid clarity that normally comes with a soul gaze or from using my sight. Yes, Marcone is a scumbag criminal, but it turns out that he’s a particularly memorable scumbag criminal. And, trust me on this, finding yourself kidnapped and manacled to the bastard makes a pretty unforgettable combination.

* * *

I knew something was wrong the moment I opened my eyes. Normally, when I wake up I’m greeted by the sights and sensations of the tiny bedroom in my apartment: my bed, my ceiling and an optional Mister or Mouse thrown in. These were all conspicuously absent. Instead, I couldn’t see anything: not my ceiling, not my bed and certainly not Mister or Mouse. 

I had opened my eyes to complete and utter darkness.

Now, plenty of people (humans, vampires, fey — the list goes on and on) would like to see me six feet under with a headstone done up nicely to mark the spot.Due to this fact, I’ve got to keep my survival instincts pretty sharp.I tensed, instinctively readying myself for fight or flight, and tried to order my thoughts.

What was the last thing I could remember?I’d been walking over to the Blue Beatle to drive over to Murph’s and then... _and then_...I drew a blank.The rest of the day was all there (I’d spent the morning fiddling with Little Chicago and then made a couple of tweaks to my wards), but that was it.And nothing says ‘suspicious’ quite like a conspicuous gap in your memory.My head didn’t hurt at all, so I had to presume the cause was magical — which was concerning.Bad guys who didn’t have to resort to the old ‘club him over the head’ were generally the ones you needed to worry about.

So, I’d been knocked out by an unknown assailant and taken to an unknown location.Not a lot to go on.But one fact was reassuring: if whoever put me here wanted me dead, then they would have killed me already.I’m not saying things were great (in Star Trek, this would be just about when the ‘red alert’ sirens would be starting up their wailing), but it was a start.

Now that I’d assessed the situation, I needed to work out where the hell I was. 

There was a smell of damp and disuse in the air and I seemed to have been lying on cold concrete — for how long, I couldn’t tell.My body felt stiff as I sat up, joints complaining at the action. 

This caused two things to happen: _something_ tugged at my wrist as I moved and a calm voice cut through the silence.

“Good morning, Dresden.I trust you slept well?”

I froze.Although the speaker was hidden in darkness, that voice was familiar.

After a moment, it continued.“Now, this is a moment to be remembered:Harry Dresden, lost for words.If only I could take a picture to commemorate the occasion.”

I matched the voice to a name.

“Marcone?” 

“Yes?”

“But, _Marcone?_”

“You know, for a moment I thought you might actually have something useful to say about our current predicament.It seems that I was mistaken.”

I managed to put my surprise to one side.“Why the hell are you here?And where the hell are we?” I snarled, before another thought struck me.“And how did you know it was me?It’s pitch black in here.”

“I’m as ignorant as yourself as to where we are and why.As for how I knew you were in here,” I could almost hear the smirk in the other man’s voice, “I regained consciousness some time before you did.You talk in your sleep, Dresden.”

There was a slightly awkward pause. I had no recollection of my dreams, so there was no way of knowing if I had said something mortally embarrassing in from of the crime lord of Chicago. I raised my hand to run it through my hair - and there was that sensation of something tugging at my wrist again.I frowned. 

“Luminus,” I said, sending a pulse of power into my right hand.A gentle light appeared in my upheld palm, illuminating my surroundings. 

We seemed to be in some sort of disused basement.Graffiti, new and old, adorned the walls and the floor as scattered with the normal detritus that accumulates in an abandoned building.Broken bottles and used spray cans were clearly visible from the light in my palm.I could see wooden steps in the far corner leading up to a trapdoor.At least I now knew how to get out of here.

Marcone was sat crosslegged on the floor a few feet away from me and I could now see what was tugging at my wrist.With his crisp suit and calm demeanour, he looked may as well have been sat in his local coffee shop.I was impressed and annoyed at the same time.

As for the cause of the tugging sensation: a slender manacle, made of what seemed to be obsidian, encircled my wrist.From it, there was a chain — around five feet in length — that led to an identical manacle around Marcone’s left wrist.Some bastard had actually chained the two of us together.As I continued to gawk at the handcuffs, something unusual happened.As I looked at the manacle, my illumination spell began to wane and falter - the weak light stuttering for a moment before going out.In the darkness, runes suddenly glowed on the cuffs and I could tell that some sort of spell had just been activated.

“_What the hell?_” I spat, staring at where the light had been moments before.

“Most impressive, Mr Dresden,” came the sardonic voice.“I assume that wasn’t meant to happen?”

I made a tactical decision to ignore Marcone and tried to reignite the light in my palm. 

The runes glowed once more in response, other than that, nothing. I tried a different approach.I raised my hand and faced it in what was the direction of the farthest wall.“Fuego.” Again, nothing — the only difference was that the runes now glowed crimson in the pervading darkness.

_Shit, shit, shit._ My magic, my source of strength, power and protection, was gone - not gone - trapped by this manacle — whatever the hell that was — and I was as good as mincemeat if any supernatural bad guys came to get me.My revolver was back in the apartment, and a cold thrill of fear raced through me at the thought that I was in an unknown location, powerless and unarmed.

“Dresden?” Marcone said, tone now neutral.

“Yeah?”

“Your magic, it’s not working?”

“No shit, Sherlock.This manacle’s messing with it, or maybe it’s just being in your pleasant company that’s giving me performance problems.” I spoke with as much bravado as I could muster, but I doubt Marcone was fooled.

“Are you armed?”

“No,” I sighed.“Everything’s back at the apartment.”

Unarmed and unable to use magic, meet Harry Dresden, your totally useless neighbourhood wizard. Neither of us said it, but I sure as hell was thinking it.

“Right,” Marcone’s voice was as crisp as his suit: he was in business mode.“In that case, I’ll lead.Our captors were considerate enough to leave me with my usual range of protective measures. Despite it being dark, we shouldn’t have much trouble getting to the trapdoor.If there’s anyone waiting for us on the other side of it, I’ll be best placed to deal with them.” 

“Good.I wouldn’t wan’t you behind me anyway,” I said, getting to my feet and hearing Marcone do the same.“What about backup? Won’t Gard and the gorilla and be looking for you?”

When Marcone spoke, his tone was wry.“I have already tried calling for assistance, but I couldn’t get my cell to work.I have no idea as to why.”

If he was trying to get me to feel bad, it wasn’t working: I do the mental equivalent of a fist pump every time I break something of his.

“Well then, no point hanging around in the dark,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

The lights in Bob’s eye sockets winked and flashed in a mixture of curiosity and amusement. 

“Ooh, handcuffs!” he chirped.“I didn’t know you did _kinky_, Harry!And I _certainly_ didn’t know you were into men these days!And who is your charming companion?”

“_Shut up_, Bob!” I snapped, in no mood for the skull’s prattling.“It’s not like I want to be in these things.I need your help to get them off.”

“Charming you are _not_, Harry.It’s just so nice to have a guest down here!I’m Bob,” he said, the orange lights of his eyes now directed at Marcone.“Don’t mind old sourpuss over there — he gets grouchy when he’s hungry.”

Now, a vanilla mortal’s ‘normal’ reaction being addressed by a disembodied talking skull would be to scream or faint. 

Marcone didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

“That would explain a lot,” he said.“I’m John Marcone.Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Ooh, what good manners!Hopefully they’ll rub off on Harry.”

We were stood in the basement of my apartment.It was as I had left it: an array of miscellaneous clutter, loose paperback books, potion ingredients and Little Chicago in the middle of the organised disarray.It felt..._wrong_...having Marcone in there.I imagine hanging out on the couch with a king cobra has much the same feeling.Admittedly, being chained to the guy left me with few alternatives, but it didn’t mean I had to enjoy the experience.

In the end, our grand escape from the basement had been completed suspicious ease: the trapdoor hadn’t even been locked and no-one had tried to stop us from leaving.The only injury sustained was a bruised shin where I misjudged the depth of one of the steps out of the basement. 

We’d been in an abandoned house in one of Chicago’s seedier neighbourhoods, and a brief cab ride had taken us back to the apartment.Marcone had been in favour of returning to his lair, but backed down when I presented the following arguments: a) I was ‘Mr Magic’ and that the cause of our current predicament was magical, b) my apartment was where I stashed all my wizardly gadgets and gizmos and c) if he thought I would willingly toddle into his offices whilst chained to him, he needed his head examined. 

Thankfully, we hadn’t had to walk very far to find a cab.Say one thing for the residents of Chicago, they like to gawk.And two men (one in a full business suit, the other in jeans and a t-shirt reading‘I’m with stupid’) walking around chained to one another will always draw stares.

Once I was able to drag Bob’s attention away from Marcone, he listened attentively as I explained the situation so far.

“I see.Enchanted manacles, eh?” he said, tone thoughtful. “Have you been able to track down who did this to you?”

“Nope, they weren’t as considerate to leave an address and telephone number,” I said.“The cuffs haven’t given me any leads either.I’ve tried looking at them with my sight, but I’m getting nothing.Anyway, getting out of these things is the immediate problem — we can sort out the bad guy later.”

“Huh._Interesting_ — I’ve never seen anything quite like this beforeAnd they block all your magic?”When I nodded the in the affirmative, Bob’s eye lights sparkled merrily. “_Impressive!_That’s some quality craftsmanship, right there!”

I frowned.It wasn’t that I expected sympathy from the skull — I knew him too well for that — but when your friend’s just been run over by the latest Lexus, you don’t stand around crooning over how great the car is.

“Enough drooling over the cuffs!” I said, feeling somewhat tetchy.“I want these things off — _now_ — otherwise Marcone is in serious danger of loosing a hand.”

“I’d like to see you try, Dresden,” Marcone chipped in, and his clear amusement did nothing for my mood.

“_Down_, Harry, _down_,” Bob said, totally unfazed by my anger; I resisted the urge to look at Marcone because I just knew that he’d be smirking. “Now, let me see what happens when you try to cast a spell.”

I pointed my hand at the floor, readied my will and said, “Fuego.”Again, no fire materialised.Instead, vivid crimson runes appeared on the manacles for a moment before fading into nothing: I wanted to punch something at the sight.

“_Very nice!_”Bob’s clear delight completely juxtaposed with my inner turmoil.“The runes are of faerie origin, but I’m unfamiliar with them. They’re either in some obscure dialect or old — very, very old.”

A line formed on my brow — I saw Marcone shift slightly too.“So you can’t read it?”

“Not one bit!”

“_Great_, just _great_,” I said.“Any other ideas?”

“_Hmmm..._”The skull pondered for a moment.“Just to clarify: you haven’t been able to use magic at all since you’ve had the cuffs on?”

“No.I already told you that since-” I started, but Marcone cut me off mid flow.

“You did cast one spell, Dresden.Back in the basement — the first thing you did when you regained consciousness was summon light,” he said.“It didn’t last very long, however.”

I paused for a second, thinking about what Marcone had said.

“Yeah,” I said.“I did summon light — although it fizzled out when I noticed the handcuffs.I haven’t been able to use magic since.”

Although Bob didn’t have facial muscles, I had the distinct impression that he was beaming.“Ah — interesting! _Very _interesting!That makes all the difference, you know.”

“It does?”I said, nonplussed.

“Of course it does!If these were standard magical inhibitors, Harry, you wouldn’t have been able to use magic at all with them on.”

“So...what are they then?”I asked.

There was a brief pause before Bob’s reply. 

“Those cuffs, gentlemen,” the skull finally said, “are a practical joke.”

It took me a moment to process what Bob’s comment.

“Huh?” was my insightful response. 

“Like I said: they’re a practical joke.”

“In what way, Bob,” I said between gritted teeth, “is this at all funny?”

“Well, I’m personally finding you — the scruffiest excuse for a wizard that ever lived — being chained to Chicago’s most eligible bachelor hilarious!” the skull continued, gratingly jovial.“Anyway, haven’t you ever heard of the Anthesteria?It’s festival among the Wyldfae that’s been going on since _forever_.The ancient Greeks had a go at it too — and the ancient Greeks _really_ knew how to party.”

I sighed.“And this is relevant how?”

“The festival celebrates misrule — it inverts the normal order of things!Those cuffs you’re wearing are its centrepiece.”

Bob went on to explain the nature of the festival.Essentially, the Anthesteria was one day of the lunar year where the normal balance of power was inverted.The lowest of the faerie social order — those like Toot-Toot, I suppose — were treated like kings for the day whilst the most powerful were their servants.The cuffs were used as a safety measure on the Wyldfae bigwigs — a way of ensuring they didn’t spoil the festivities by blasting the rest of the partygoers half way through.It was totally stupid, totally backward and a totally fey idea of a good time.

Marcone listened attentively as Bob spoke, nodding slightly.“But surely the premise for the festival — along with the manacles — leaves the most powerful fey vulnerable to attack,” he said, tone thoughtful.“What’s stopping the weaker fey from simply using it as an opportunity to assassinate the stronger?”

I frowned — John ‘cynical bastard’ Marcone.But I suppose you don’t become crime lord of Chicago through playing nice...

“The faeries thought of that, clever little devils,” Bob replied merrily.“The cuffs should also have remarkable defensive properties.Just have Harry try to punch you and you’ll see what I mean.”

Marcone looked at me and smiled: it was disconcertingly shark like.“Go on, Dresden,” he said, “just try and punch me.”

I took a moment to think about it.From what I had seen of the man, Marcone could move like a snake when he wanted to...

“I’ll take your word for it, Bob,” I said, quickly changing the subject.“So, I have some enchanted handcuffs — the magical equivalent of a Kevlar vest — that also make me completely useless, right?”

“That’s the gist of it, yes.”

“So, how does knowing this help us take them off?”

“Ah, well,” the skull said, “according to writings about the festival, there are two ways.”

I saw Marcone perk up at this bit of information.“And the two ways are?” he asked.

Bob’s eye lights blazed orange.“Well, option number one is sacrificing twenty virgins on the night of the full moon.”

“_What?!_” I snapped, glaring at the skull.Marcone’s look of displeasure was a mirror to my own.

Bob’s tone was reproachful.“A joke,” he said, “it was a _joke_, Harry.You need to be able to-”

“Hilarious,” I snapped.“Enough with the bad comedy routine — the options?”

“Oh, well...” Bob went on.“You see, the manacles’ enchantment is a special one: it’s the old ‘don’t think of a pink elephant’ scenario.If you’re consciously aware of the cuffs, they’ll continue to inhibit your magic.The moment you stop thinking about them, they’ll come off by themselves.”

“Oh, _great_.‘Stop thinking about the cuffs’ — _easy_,” I said through gritted teeth.“And how exactly do we do that?”

Bob’s eye lights flickered with what I presumed was excitement — the only other time I saw him this animated what when I brought him in a new batch of trashy romance novels.The thought filled me with foreboding.

“_Well!_There are two methods traditionally known best to — ah — ‘free the mind’ as it were,” he said, tone painfully smug. 

I had a sudden, terrible premonition of what the skull was going to say.

“That’s enough, Bob, I think I get-” I tried to stop him, but Marcone got there first.

“And the two methods are?” asked Marcone, oblivious to my unease.

“Your two options are as follows,” Bob said with the air of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, “fall asleep or have sex.”

The silence that followed was deafening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do love a cliffhanger. 😉
> 
> Thanks for reading and any comments/kudos are highly appreciated.


	2. Up in Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To answer a question that some of you are doubtlessly thinking, yes, the chain is long enough to slip beneath Harry’s bathroom door. If these guys need to pee, they can do so in blissful privacy. 

“It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.” Oscar Wilde.

* * *

“Your two options are as follows: fall asleep or have sex.”

There are some statements that demand a stunned silence.‘You’re going to be a father’, ‘I’m sorry, it’s terminal’ or ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ are to name just a few.Telling someone to — _ahem_ — ‘make the beast with two backs’ with their arch-nemesis is also one such statement.

The silence following Bob’s bombshell lasted for what felt like an ice age, but was in reality probably less than a few seconds.

“What the _hell_, Bob?” I finally managed.“Just—shut up, alright!”Words were not adequate to convey the unpleasant cocktail of horror, anger and embarrassment I suddenly found myself experiencing.

“_What?_” Bob sounded positively wounded.“Why are you more shocked by the getting down and dirty option than the human sacrifice solution?I know I struggle with the whole ‘morality’ concept, but surely — on the grand scale of things — killing twenty virgins is worse than-”

“_Bob!_Just stop speaking!Or I swear to God that I’ll shove a sack over you or something!”

“Well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it?” the skull prattled on as if I hadn’t spoken.“What better way to take your mind off things — and get rid of those cuffs — by hooking up with Prince Charming here and-“

Bob did continue speaking, but it was now considerably muffled: I’d shoved my duffle bag over his head.

I stood there, panting as though I’d run a marathon and glaring at the lump of fabric that concealed the skull.Pulling myself together, I turned to face Marcone.“For the record,” I said, “I am not going to have sex with you.No offence.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and I had the irritating suspicion he was restraining the urge to laugh at me.“None taken,” he said.“You’d be punching above your weight, anyway.Get back to me when you’ve burned that hideous leather coat of yours.”

There was a satellite delay before I processed the implication of his words.I froze.What?_Was Marcone..?_No — he couldn’t be.Crime lords do not flirt with the likes of dread wizard Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden!

I made a strategic decision to brush his comment aside for the moment: there were bigger issues to deal with than Marcone being... _weird_. “Right, I’m glad that’s settled.”I crossed my arms and scowled at the other man.“Although the second option isn’t great: I have a personal policy of not being unconscious in front of criminal scumbags.”

Marcone raised an eyebrow at that.“I’m wounded, Harry.”I bristled at the use of my first name, but he continued before I could snap back.“It’s not like I relish the opportunity of letting my guard down in font of you either.However, if you really want to be attached to me for the foreseeable future, then be my guest.”He smirked.“Although I imagine people may jump to conclusions when they see us chained together.”

As an adult, I understand that it is not considered appropriate for you to throw yourself on the floor, beat it with your fists and scream — you occasionally see kids doing it in Walmart.However, I really — and I mean really — felt like doing it right then.

“I do _not_ want to be chained to you.I also do _not_ want to be unconscious around you, Marcone,” I growled, glaring at him in what I hoped what was a menacing manner.

No dice: I imagine that threatening to throw cotton wool at the man would have had about the same level of impact.Holding out his hands in a conciliatory gesture, chain jangling slightly as he moved, he took on the role of a caring but slightly exasperated parent.“Harry, this is simply the most viable solution available to us at the present time.Your pet skull said the manacles had defensive properties.If that is the case, then you don’t need to feel threatened by me as you sleep.”

“I do not feel threatened!” I spat out on instinct.

“Oh, really?” Marcone tilted his head slightly.“You are certainly acting like it.”

It was at this point that I found myself presented with a crossroads.I could either throwdown with Marcone then and there, which would be satisfying as hell but do nothing to help resolve my current predicament, or I could realise what an ass I was being and chill the hell out.The Harry Dresden of years gone by would have run headfirst down the first route.However, time is a great teacher.Thankfully, I’m a bit older, a bit wiser and no longer blind to my own flaws.And at this point, I was beginning to sound a bit petulant to myself.Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t like I was going to say ‘sorry’ and go in for a group hug, but at least I wasn’t going to try and German suplex the guy...

Allowing myself a couple of moments of silent smouldering, I then heaved a deep sigh.Hissy fit over: time to get my game face on.

“_Fine_,” I said.“If hitting the sack gets rid of the cuffs, I’ll do it.But if you snore, don’t expect to have your head intact by morning.”

Marcone nodded. “The feeling’s mutual.As glad as I am to have the matter settled,” he said, pausing to look at his watch — a Rolex, of course, “it’s only 7:00pm.I can’t exactly say I’m feeling tired right now.”

And with those words, Harry Dresden’s slumber party with Johnny Marcone, the most feared criminal in Chicago, began.

* * *

“Dresden, is this honestly what you call food?”

“Go hungry, see if I care.If you’re too fussy for pizza, I can always feed your portion to the faeries.”

“What?”

“Never mind.Anyway, just shut up and eat — this is good stuff.”

“Lucky, lucky me.Is this how you normally treat your guests?If so, I now understand why you’re single.”

“You’re single too, asshole!At least I’m not a criminal scumba—HEY!Don’t feed pizza to my dog!”

As you can see, Marcone and I were getting on like a house on fire. 

It was... weird as hell.I was sat on the couch — I didn’t really have room for a proper dining table — eating reheated takeout pizza with Gentleman Johnny Marcone.If that didn’t sink in the first time, let me repeat myself: I was sat on the _couch_, eating reheated _takeout pizza_ with _Gentleman Johnny Marcone_.What can I say, life is full of surprises.

Anyway, apart from the whole scenario being trippier than an entire bucket of frogs on LSD, it was... less terrible... than anticipated?Apart from the trash talk about the pizza, Marcone had been.... _Marcone had been..._Now, I wouldn’t say friendly — I don’t think he does friendly — but he hadn’t exactly been a grade A asshole either.There’d been a notable lack of comment when it came to my apartment (as much as I love maison Dresden, I’m not blind to the forth-hand furniture and assorted scorch marks, acid burns and even the odd bullet hole); he’d simply made a remark about the quality of the katana I had on display (Shiro’s) and kept all other opinions to himself. 

Mouse’s reception of Marcone had also proved surprising.To be honest, I’d been looking forward to the pair meeting.Hell, it’s not often you see a dog with the same approximate body mass as a grizzly bear who looks like he could eat broken bottles for breakfast dish out justice on Chicago’s resident crime lord.Now, it’s not like I wanted Marcone seriously mauled or anything — I didn’t get my hopes up that much — but seeing Mouse go all ‘defender of house and home’ on the guy would have been something I’d happily have paid good money to see.

No such luck.

Mouse, it seems, has hidden depths.Not only is he a dog who makes the Hound of the Baskervilles look like a chihuahua in comparison, but he also apparently has a... a ‘thing’ for criminal assholes in suits.Imagine my horror when, instead of chasing Marcone around the apartment and trying to chew off a couple of his limbs, Mouse — _the traitor_ — positively doted on the asshole instead.The waggy tail, the puppy dog eyes, the affectionate lick: all were lavished on none other than Gentleman Johnny Marcone.The bastard got a better reception than me! And if you think I’m jealous, I’m not.It was a natural response to the sight of my dog, the so called ‘defender of justice’, going all gooey eyed at the sight of pure evil in a suit and tie.Man’s best friend, my ass!

Anyway, the only other thing that had happened so far — apart from Marcone seducing my dog and sneering at my pizza — was that he’d asked to use my phone to call his pet gorilla (my words, not his).He just cancelled few appointments and told Hendricks he was safe.I did notice, however, that Marcone didn’t explicitly say that he was with me.Instead, he told Hendricks that he was ‘with a friend’ (I had to restrain a snort at that) and would be in touch soon.So, that’s the story so far and how I came to be in my current predicament, viz.,sat on the couch, chained to a crime lord and eating reheated takeout.

Frogs on LSD, eat your heart out.

Now, when faced with unfamiliar and uncomfortable situations, the human tendency is to try and normalise them as much as possible.In other words, we go on autopilot.My usual strategy for dealing with Marcone is all out aggression served with a side order of of sarcasm.However, being a dick is _tiring_.It’s _hard_ to be a dick when you’re sat on the couch and eating pizza.So, I inadvertently found myself going into autopilot.All of those lessons on hospitality Ebenezer had drilled into me were finally coming in handy.He would have been proud.Well, maybe...

“Want a beer?” I found myself saying as I got up to go to the fridge.“It’s good stuff — McAnally’s.”

Marcone looked at me quizzically for a moment, then nodded.“I haven’t heard of it,” he said.“Thank you.”

Admittedly the whole ‘chivalrous’ effect was spoiled by the fact that — for me to go the the fridge — Marcone had to get up too as we were chained together, but it was still pretty good of me.Host of the year, here I come.

We settled back down and Marcone took a sip, eyebrows raising in surprise.“This is _good_,” he said, surveying the bottle in appreciation.“I didn’t know you had taste, Dresden.”

“When it comes to beer, Mac knows his stuff,” I replied, ignoring the barb.“Although he wouldn’t be best pleased with it being served cold.”

“A local establishment, is it?”

“Yeah, but don’t you even think about getting your claws into it.It’s a hocus-pocus hangout — neutral territory.”

“If you’re a frequent customer, then I wouldn’t dare.The cost of insuring the place would surely offset any profit.”

“Cry me a river, Marcone.Anyway, I didn’t peg you for a beer drinker — it’s too normal.I thought you’d be a fancy wine sorta guy.”

Marcone laughed gently, but I didn’t see the joke.“To be honest, I don’t drink too much in my spare time: I find it clouds the judgement.However, I do find other people drinking good for business.Having a well stocked drinks cabinet in my office has led to some very satisfactory arrangements.”

I snorted.“I can imagine — I’d better be careful then,” I said, waving the beer bottle, “a few more of these and you’d probably get me to sell my soul to you by morning.”

Marcone glanced at me before taking another swig of his beer.“I’m sure that could be arranged.”

And the doorbell rang.

Looking back, the doorbell had pretty impeccable timing: Marcone’s latest statement had another layer of weird to it and I had no idea to respond.Thankfully, answering the door alleviated me of that responsibility.

Now, I’m no expert on this, but I’m fairly sure that the standard procedure when ringing someone’s doorbell is as follows:

Step 1) Ring the doorbell.

Step 2) Wait for someone to open the door.

Step 3) If no one opens the door, repeat steps one and two.

Step 4) If the door still remains unopened, give up, go the hell home and get on with your life.

The person currently ringing my doorbell had messed up at step one. Rather than a brief ring followed by a period of waiting, they had gone for all ring.The noise of it was piercing.To make matters worse, they were accompanying the shrill ringing with a series of harsh knocks.If I’d been indebt, I’d have been worried that someone was about to repossess my TV.

A voice joined the general cacophony: “Harry?Harry — are you in there?”

“Oh, _hell..._” I murmured, running a hand through my hair and wishing I was anywhere, _anywhere_ but here.A nuclear bunker would have done nicely.

In response to the commotion, Marcone had got up and had his hand on what I presumed was a concealed weapon.“Who is it, Harry?” he asked quietly, gently pushing away Mouse who had taken the opportunity to sneak a lick at his free hand.

I looked at the door and gulped.“It’s Murph.”

* * *

In my experience, just when you think things can’t get any worse, life always rises to meet the challenge.

Murphy first looked at myself and then Marcone, gaze finally settling on the chain that bound us together.Her expression was as unreadable to me as Old Arabic with a side-order of Ancient Greek.

“H-hiya, Murph.”

“_Harry._”Her eyes hadn’t moved from the chain and a slight crease had formed between her brows. 

Our exchange of greetings was followed a loaded silence: Marcone took that as his cue to stick his oar in.

“Lieutenant Murphy,” he said, “what a _pleasant_ surprise — Harry hadn’t mentioned that you’d be visiting.Please don’t let my presence bother you.”He lifted his cuffed hand and jangled the chain binding us together.“I’m just here to stay the night.”

Remember that thing I said about Marcone not being a ‘grade A asshole’?I take it back.

As Marcone had been speaking, the crease in Murph’s brow had deepened.Other than that, she hadn’t visibly responded to the sight of the mob boss — or the fact that I was chained to the guy — whatsoever.People who didn’t know Murph would have interpreted that as a good sign.I knew better.If Murphy seemed calm, it was because she was collecting herself just before she started cracking heads.

She turned to face me and — _oh God_ — she was even _smiling_.“Harry,” she said, voice filled with a terrible serenity, “can I have a word in private, please?”

I shrank under her gaze like a toddler faced with a wrathful parent.“Erm, Murph?If you hadn’t already noticed, I’m kinda chained to Marcone — I’m not sure if that really allows for privacy.”

Her eyes flashed.“A word in _private_, Harry.”

In an ideal world, Murph and I would have spoken in the kitchen or even the bedroom.However, I do not live in an ideal world: the manacles’ relatively short chain didn’t allow for it.With Marcone on the couch, it was just long enough to reach the corner of the room, and it was there where I stood huddled miserably with Murphy.I’d switched the TV on to try and cover the noise of our conversation — a re-run of an old X-Files episode was on — but I was still fairly sure that Marcone would be able to hear us.

Now that she’d got me on my own, Murphy’s veneer of calm began to crack.“So,” she started, “you stood me up yesterday to play house with Chicago’s resident drug lord?”

I rubbed at my temples with my unchained hand.“No, Murph, it’s not like-”

“And, not only have you found an exciting new social group, but you’re experimenting with BDSM too._Nice cuffs_, Harry — were you playing cops and robbers?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Marcone slip Mouse a slice of pizza.“C’mon, Murph!It’s not like that!I-“

She went on as if I hadn’t spoken.“Imagine how I felt when you didn’t show up at my house yesterday — imagine how _worried_ I was,” she hissed, and I found myself wishing that I hadn’t answered the door and that there was still a reassuring brick wall separating the two of us.“You didn’t warn me, didn’t call — I was half convinced you were dead in a ditch somewhere.But _no_, you’re just engaging in some perverse role play with the biggest criminal asshole in the state!”

“Look, I’m sorry — but it’s not what it looks like!” 

She tilted her head to one side, whole posture incredulous.“Oh, isn’t it?‘Cus it really, _really_ seems like it.”

“Of course it isn’t!You know me, Murph!Do you really think I’d be chained to the guy if I had a choice?”

She looked doubtful for a moment, but her face quickly regained its hardness.“Why didn’t you call me?”

I held my hands out in front of me, palms up, the chain jangling at the movement.“My bad — I should have and I’m sorry.Things have been so crazy around here that I completely forgot to.Look, a lot’s happened...”

I summarised waking up in the basement, discovering myself chained to Marcone, the failure of my magic and gave her the abridged version ofBob’s explanation of the cuffs.I left out the ‘sex’ option, obviously — I didn’t feel like getting shot in the face at point blank range right then and there.

Murphy listened with her arms folded and her head tilted to one side.To call her expression ‘sceptical’ would be a gross understatement.“So, let me get this straight,” she said when I was finished.“You were kidnapped — by an unknown person — chained to Marcone — for an unknown reason — and you can’t use your powers?”

“Yeah, that’s about it.Except that the cuffs should come off once we fall asleep — being unconscious gets rid of them, apparently.”

“Right,” she said dubiously.A thought struck her and she suddenly perked up.“Hey, how about I do you guys a favour and just knock you both out?I know some good moves for it.”

Murphy, despite being a good friend and one I’d trust with my back in the most deadly situations, sounded just a little too enthusiastic about carrying out an act of violence on yours truly.

“I’ll pass, thanks,” I said hurriedly.“The cuffs are meant to have defensive properties anyway — it probably wouldn’t work.”

She gave a little sigh, giving a remorseful little nod.“More’s the pity.Anyway, now that I’ve confirmed you’re alive, I can get on with my evening.”Her expression softened slightly.“Although I’d happily stay, Harry, I don’t feel comfortable leaving you with this snake.”

I thought for a moment.Murph, Marcone and me: as a group, we’d probably have as much chemistry as radioactive waste.I rushed to reassure her.“It’s fine, Murph, really.You don’t need to stay.He can’t pull anything on me because of the cuffs.Anyway, Mouse has me covered.”

At the mention of Mouse, Murphy turned to look at the dog and I followed on cue.At the moment, he seemed like he’d be about as much use defending me from the wiles of Gentleman Johnny Marcone as a child’s toy gun.He was currently having his ears scratched and it looked like it was only a matter of time before he was flat on his back and asking for a tummy rub._Pathetic..._

Murph turned to me and raised an eyebrow, obviously unconvinced.“Are you _sure_, Harry?”

“Yeah, Murph, I’m sure.Let’s go for a drink when this is- _agh!_”

I found myself squeaking in surprise when I suddenly found myself being yanked down to Murphy’s height — which is saying something as she’s five foot nothing and I’m the proverbial beanstalk.Anyway, she’d dragged me down close enough so that she could whisper in my ear.

“Be careful, Harry.Something feels off here,” she murmured, quiet enough so that only I could hear.“It’s all a little _too_ convenient.Watch him carefully.”And with that, she pulled back and briskly left the apartment, leaving me staring after her and at the closed door she left in her wake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as my chapters always breed like rabbits, this two part thing is now a three part thing! Whoop whoop! Loop-the-loop! Eat some fruit! 
> 
> Anyway... as a heads up, there may be a rating change for the next chapter. I have experimented with not being a massive perv and failed utterly. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading and any comments/kudos are very much appreciated.


	3. Ignite

“Good people exasperate one's reason; bad people stir one's imagination.” Oscar Wilde

* * *

You know the expression about being ‘in bed with the enemy’?I’d never thought that, in my case, it would turn out to be literal. 

Marcone stood in the doorway of my tiny bedroom.He turned to give me a long, slow look that spoke volumes — and it wasn’t saying anything flattering.

“_What?_” I said, feeling suddenly defensive of my rumpled bed and Mickey Mouse alarm clock.“I’m not running a hotel here, asshole — either get in or get out.” 

“I know that we’ve already gone over this, Harry,” he said, still taking in the sights of boudoir ‘Harry Dresden’, “but why don’t you come back to my place?I’m unsure whether this sorry excuse for a bed is going to last the night.”

I crossed my arms and glared at him.“It seems I wasn’t clear enough earlier: I would rather _die_ than go back to your lair.”

Marcone tiled his head slightly.“Really?You should have said.Feel free to make use of my gun — I’ve got knives too, if you’d prefer.”

“_Ha ha, _very funny_,_” I drawled.“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass.And what’s wrong with my bed anyway?”

That earned me another look.Apparently what was ‘wrong’ with my bed was so glaringly obvious that it didn’t even warrant a response.

If I wasn’t so annoyed with the bastard, I probably would have been wounded: a select few people have had the privilege of using my bed (excluding Thomas and his various conquests — that was without my permission) and I didn’t appreciate Marcone trash talking it.The asshole should have been grateful I was giving him a place to sleep at all.If not for the manacles, I would have been more than happy to tell him to take his Armani clad ass and sleep on the street outside — maybe that would suit him better.

Do I hear you ask _why_ was I so charitable as to share my very own bed with the worm that is Johnny Marcone?What led to this act of extreme altruism (or temporary insanity, take your pick) on my part?As tempting as it is to present myself as a martyr, it was mainly down to practicality.

I had initially put up a pretty good argument for camping out on the floor.Marcone, however, respectfully — but firmly — declined.To be perfectly honest, I was happy to let him win that one.To set the record straight, this was _not_ because I wanted to share my bed with a mob boss — _hell no_.There would be no snuggling, no pillow fights (although, if we substituted my pillow with a brick, I may be tempted), nothing: I was intent on spending the night pretending Marcone wasn’t there.Anyway, despite the layers of rugs, sleeping on the floor was hardly tempting. Hey, I’m getting on in years, alright?Back ache is a _thing_.Apart from that, the sofa was too small for one grown man, let alone two, which left the bed.I had been tempted to claim it for myself and consign Marcone to the floor.Myself languishing in pillows while Marcone made do with the floorboards was a pleasing mental image, but sadly not meant to be.This wasn’t down to any lack of willingness on my part, but more due to a lack of floor space.Moreover, the relatively short length of chain holding us together would probably have ended up with one of us dislocating a wrist.If you’ve ever dislocated a wrist, you’ll know why I was less than eager to repeat the experience.

So, you’ll see that I was being more than accommodating for none other than the biggest asshole in Chicago.Because of this, you’ll also see why his ungrateful attitude stung a little.I didn’t have long to dwell on his barbs, however, as something far more pressing distracted me from my irritation.

Marcone had started to strip.

Without preamble, the man had undone his tie and pulled it off in one fluid motion.He was presently working on his shirt buttons, undoing them with deft fingers and revealing toned, tanned flesh.Despite myself, I gawked.I found myself experiencing an odd cocktail of surprise and jealousy.Hell, it’s not every day you see the gang lord of Chicago give a strip tease and I was suddenly aware that _my_ chest certainly didn’t look like that.I’d always known that I’m more ‘scarecrow’ than pinup model, but I found myself feeling more self conscious than I had in a very long time.

Marcone, noticing the attention, flashed white teeth at me as he undid his last button.“Why Harry, if you keep on staring at me like that, you’ll make me blush.”

I growled something inarticulate at the man and whirled around at record speed, the chain jangling and rattling at the sudden movement.That bastard always knew how to push my buttons...I had been planning on going to bed fully clothed but, now that Marcone had set the bar, it would come across as weird if I didn’t also get undressed.The impulse not to seem prudish overwhelmed my desire not to be in nothing but my boxer shorts around the guy.Look, I know it was ridiculous, but — what can I say — masculinity makes me do stupid things.

Unlike the narcissistic exhibitionist that was Marcone, however, I took off my jeans and t-shirt like a shy teenager: with my back turned to him and trying to reveal as little of the Dresden form (and snazzy Star Wars boxers) as possible. 

The chain, however, complicated matters.

Being shackled has surprising down sides.My discarded t-shirt hung awkwardly from the chain joining myself and Marcone._Annoying_.I did, however, feel a wave of relief that I hadn’t been wearing my leather duster — now that would have gotten really irritating really fast.

Marcone, on the other hand, had a rather more extreme way of dealing with the problem.

The sound of ripping fabric suddenly ran through the air.When I turned round to identify the source of it, I was greeted by the sight of Marcone, knife in hand, slicing through the fabric of his shirt and jacket as if it was the most natural thing in the world.Once he had discarded the shredded garments onto the floor, he stood only in his slacks as calmly as if he’d been in a full shirt and tie.As I glared at him, he carefully placed the knife and a gun that he had materialised from somewhere on my bedside table._Not threatening at all..._

“Is that how you normally strip?”I asked, indicating the wrecked clothing.“I hate to tell you this, but you’ve been doing it wrong.”

Marcone looked at me and shrugged.The guy obviously worked out — his chest was toned, smooth skin intersected with the occasional line of a scar. “I have more,” he said. “Anyway, Mr Hendricks will bring me a change of clothes in the morning.”

When Marcone’s then started undoing his belt, I decided that was my cue to stop gaping at him and hit the sack.

I lost no time in shifting over to the far side of the bed so that there was as much distance as humanly possible between myself and the other man. Although my bed was by no means huge, as long as I lay curled in on myself, it should have been roomy enough for no part of my body to be in contact with Marcone.

As I lay there and did my best to play dead, I could hear the rattle of Marcone’s belt, the sound of a zipper being drawn down and then the soft noise of fabric being folded. For some inexplicable reason, I felt the tips of my ears grow hot at the sound. Weird. After a moment, I felt the bed undulate under Marcone’s weight.

I rolled myself up in the comforter, shielding myself from the other man.“If you try and spoon me,” I growled into my pillow, “I’ll rip off your arm.” 

Marcone gave that dry little laugh of his.“You took the words out of my mouth.Do try not to set fire to anything as you sleep, Dresden.”

The night was hot and airless: typical of summer in Chicago.Perhaps it was Marcone’s presence, but I found myself hyperaware of my surroundings.The hum of passing cars, the wail of sirens in the distance, the thin sheen of sweat covering my skin: I experienced all of them with vivid clarity.Time dragged.I longed to stretch my limbs out, to throw off the comforter and bury my face in my pillow, but couldn’t do so without touching Marcone.So, I did the best that I could.I shuffled, I squirmed, I wriggled: I did all I could in my limited space to find the comfortable position that had, as of yet, eluded me.

After a while of this, a rather irate voice rang out in the darkness.“If you toss and turn any more, Dresden, I will be forced to resort to violence.”

I tensed.“Like hell you would.I can’t sleep, okay?”

I heard Marcone turn to face me and, although my back was turned to him, I could imagine his smug expression perfectly.“Considering the state of your mattress, I’m not surprised.A family heirloom, is it?”

“Forgive me if my heart doesn’t bleed for you,” I scoffed.“And if you’re done whining, I’m going to get some sleep.The sooner I’m out of these cuffs, the better.”

I waited for Marcone’s customary sneering response, but it wasn’t forthcoming.Apparently the guy had decided that exchanging trash talk with me wasn’t productive to our current goal: i.e. getting unconscious._Halle-fricking-lujah._

* * *

A desperate suddenly scream pierced the air. It went on and on and on, shrill and reverberating through every cell in my body. I longed to cover my ears, to block it out, but I couldn’t move — my body frozen and muscles rigid, fists clenched impotently by my sides.

Black smoke writhed and swirled around me, the air acrid and thick with the reek of sulphur.I couldn’t see beyond three feet in front of me, my surroundings obscured by the pervading fog of smoke.Occasional flickers of fiery red stood out like bloodstains against the blanket of darkness.

The screaming continued, drilling into my aching skull.It seemed to be coming from everywhere, from all around me, from the very smoke that swallowed me whole. 

“Where are you?”I yelled, nearly choking on the filthy air.“I can help you!Just- just tell me where you are!”

The sound went on, unbroken.It was a woman’s scream; the sound of it was like a punch to the gut. 

Although I couldn’t see her, I knew that she was hurt; I knew that she would die if I didn’t get to her — and soon. I needed to find her, to help her and- and make everything okay again.

Once again, I tried to move, to plunge myself into the darkness to find her, to save her.But my traitorous body wouldn’t move.Although I willed myself to action with every fibre of my being, every muscle, every nerve ending, my body refused to listen.I was paralysed; I was powerless.

“_Elaine!_” I yelled.“_Elaine!_”

As I continued to battle myself, the smoke began to take shape around me.Something lurked in the darkness.The silhouette of a man began to materialise as I watched.The proportions were monstrous.He stood at least twelve feet tall, still growing larger as I watched, and began to move towards me.

“No,” I gasped, disbelieving.“You’re _dead_!I _killed_ you — you’re _dead_!”

The figure kept growing and growing, towering over me now — fifteen, twenty feet tall — and it reached out to grip me in its inhumanly strong hands.Unnaturally sharp claws dug into my skin, ripping a cry from me to join the shrieks and screams in the background.

“_Harry_.” A low voice rumbled throughout the endless dark like thunder.“_You know that you can’t save her from yourself._”

* * *

I jolted awake. My breath was loud in my ears and I blinked rapidly, trying to separate reality from dream. I could still smell the smoke — the taste of it was thick on my tongue — and Elaine’s terrified cries were still ringing in my ears. My face was wet — whether with tears or sweat I was unsure — and the bedding was in disarray around me. I blinked a few times, trying to control my ragged breathing, and it was only then that I registered that Marcone was saying my name.

“Huh?” I said, sounding about as shitty as I felt.

I could see the man’s outline in the dark: he was sat up and looking down at me.I couldn’t make out his expression. “Ah — you’re awake.I’ve been trying to wake you for some time.You’ve been,” he paused for a moment, searching for the right word, “indisposed.”

‘Indisposed’, huh?That was one way of putting it.Thrashing around like a madman probably would have been more accurate, but I was grateful that the man knew better than to ask if I was okay. 

“Oh, right — thanks.”To my embarrassment, I realised that I was shivering._Just left over adrenaline_, I told myself, _just left over adrenaline..._

The nightmare’s tendrils still clung at me, my thoughts foggy and clouded with residual fear.I vaguely noticed that I was still cuffed.So, the manacles therefore did require us both to be asleep then, huh?Marcone must have been awake during the entire episode:the thought made me want to hide under a rock somewhere.

‘_Stupid Harry_,’ I thought, ‘_stupid — you should be over this by now._’ For a man of my age, I was troubled by nightmares with embarrassing frequency.I suppose with all of the terrible things I’d witnessed — all the terrible things I’d done — had taken their toll on my subconscious.One of the benefits of being single was that I could keep it pretty well under wraps.Until now. 

From the first time our eyes had met, I knew that Marcone had the soul of a predator.Due to this, I’d tried to show as little weakness to the man as possible: tigers get hungry at the scent of blood.What would the consequence be from revealing this chink in my armour?I didn’t know, but I doubted it would be good.

The shivering was showing no side of abating and I clenched my fists in frustration.I just lay there, eyes squeezed shut and trying to control my stuttering breath.

There was a sigh and I heard the chain clink slightly.I opened my eyes to see Marcone running a hand through his hair before flicking on the light on my bedside table, filling the small room with a warm glow. 

The man was still sat up and looking down at me.He was frowning and looking at me a bit more intently than I was strictly comfortable with.I squirmed further under the covers, hoping that he wouldn’t notice I was still trembling. 

“What’re you looking at?” Although I was trying to sound threatening, I didn’t really pull it off: it’s hard to menace someone when you’re wrapped up to the eyeballs in a sheet and shivering.

The man just continued staring at me before giving a little nod.It seemed that he had come to some sort of decision.“Desperate times call for desperate measures, Dresden.Turn over.”

There was a slight delay as I processed the implication of his words.When I did, I froze.“_What?_”

Marcone frowned again, speaking to me as if I was a particularly dim child.“I told you to _turn over_, Harry.You’ll thank me for this in a moment.”

I gaped at the man before jerking myself up and scooching as far away from him as the bed would allow.“W-why the hell would I do that, creep?!” I spluttered.“We agreed that we were going for the ‘sleep’ option, asshole!If you’ve got any other ideas, you can go fuck yourself!”

“What an active imagination you have, Harry.Now, just come here and stop complaining,” he said before patting the space on the bed next to him.He flashed white teeth at me. “I don’t bite.”

Did that reassure me in the slightest?_Hell-freaking-no it didn’t!_

“Get lost, asshole!If you think I’m going to roll over and play dead, then you’ve got a-” I started to spit insults at the psychotic bastard, but was unable to finish my sentence.

Moving with the speed of a striking snake, Marcone made a sudden lunge for me.I’m not familiar with the particular move he used on me — I only know bits and pieces that I’ve picked up from Murphy, but whatever it was had me face down on the bed with Marcone sat on the small of my back.

I struggled wildly, flailing and lashing out at the other man.I tried to right myself, doing all I could to get Marcone the hell off of me — like a sort of Harry Dresden bucking bronco.It was futile, however.Marcone had the distinct advantage and I quickly wore myself out.Deep frustration pulsed through me at my inability to use magic — then there would only have only been a Johnny Marcone shaped smear left on my bedroom ceiling once I had done with the guy.

I lay there panting.Marcone firmly gripped the back of my neck shifted his weight slightly on my back— getting comfy, the bastard.He then leaned forward to speak directly into my ear.He was close enough that I could feel the feather touch of his breath on the back of my neck.“Are you done?”

I brought my head up sharply, aiming to hit him full in the face with the back of my head.Once again, I wasn’t fast enough: he swiftly shifted his weight back to avoid the blow.I growled in frustration.“Just you wait, Marcone, you wait ‘til I-”

“_Yes, yes _— you’ll enact vengeance on me and cruel and unusual ways.It’s getting rather old Harry.”The mirth in his voice made my blood boil.“Now, just shut up and enjoy the attention, Dresden.This is a one time performance.”

_Enjoy the attention?My ass!_Manacles or not, when I was done with him, Marcone would be picking up his teeth from the other side of the city. That, or I’d melt his freaking head!

I snarled, seething with Marcone for doing this to me and seething with myself for letting it happen.Preparing to start flailing for all I was worth, I readied myself to launch into a furious tirade at the other man.

But, despite my anger, the words died on my lips.

Now, there are some actions that immediately diffuse a situation.Anyone who has given a screaming toddler some candy or a cellphone to play with will know _exactly_ what I mean.What Marcone presently did had much the same effect on me: the sheer shock and cognitive dissonance of it shut me up as effectively as if he had sealed my mouth up with duct tape.

So, what did Marcone do that had Harry Dresden, the wizard who’s seen it all and then some, so utterly lost for words?

The bastard had started giving me a back rub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be the last. Promise! ;)
> 
> As always, thank you for any comments and kudos you are kind enough to leave.


	4. In the Embers

“Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.”Oscar Wilde

* * *

Remember what I said earlier? That eating pizza on the couch with Marcone was fairly high up on the scale of weird as hell experiences? Well, I was wrong. Compared with what was currently happening, the pizza incident was as commonplace as breathing. 

Marcone had released his control hold on my neck and moved his hands to my shoulders, the touch warm against my bare skin. His grip was firm, exerting just the right amount of pressure as his supple fingers kneaded my aching muscles. My shoulders, my collarbone, the back of my neck: all were tantalised and teased to life under the ministrations of his talented hands. The man was clearly skilled — a pretty surprising talent for the mastermind of Chicago’s criminal underground. Anyway, he was able to really maximise the sensation without tipping the scale for it to become painful — a difficult dance under any circumstances, and one which he pulled off effortlessly. And I, blindsided by the onslaught of pleasurable sensation, just lay there and let Marcone get on with it. 

As you may have guessed, I’m not really a ‘spa retreat’ sort of guy.This was the first time I’d experienced someone play upon my body like a musician, making it thrum and sing with pleasure to a tune I’d never yet heard.Well, yeah, I’d obviously had sex before, but this was different.This was... Well, it was _good_.Really, really, _really_ good.I hadn’t been touched so intimately for a long time and, to someone starved of physical contact, a little goes a long way — even if the source is somewhat unexpected. 

Marcone once told me that he had instructed all of his employees to treat me ‘like a sultan’ should I ever darken their door.He’d said the treatment confused me and therefore made things going ‘boom’ less likely.Was this his current strategy then?I would have pursued the idea, but Marcone did _something_ that caused my back to arch and toes to curl in pleasure._Wow_ — and that was just from my _shoulder_ _blades_.I practically purred when he moved his nimble fingers down to trace the curve of my spine._Gods_, it was like his fingertips left trails of electricity wherever he touched.I allowed myself to become a puddle of satisfaction when I felt him beginning to work on my back in earnest.Holding down pleased moans was suddenly far more important than trying to rationalise my present situation.

So, why wasn’t I presently trying to brain Marcone with my blasting rod?Why was I allowing myself to get up close and intimate with the biggest asshole Chicago has to offer?I could make excuses about being caught out by Marcone, being left vulnerable by my nightmare or how my power was restricted by the manacles, but I won’t.I’ll be straight with you: I didn’t fight him because it felt good — and I figure that’s as worthy a reason as any. Speaking as a man who has endured more pain and isolation that any person should in a lifetime, it just felt so damn good to just let it all go.Yeah, I’d probably be kicking myself later, but so what? That thing Molly says sometimes sums it up nicely._What was it again?_ When she first said it, she had to translate for old man Harry Dresden.Apparently I’ve now crossed that bridge where I’m now totally out of touch with what those hip young whippersnappers are saying these days._Now, what was it_— oh yeah!

In the immortal words of Molly Carpenter: YOLO, bitches.Never say that _I’m_ the kind of wizard who’ll pass up on a free back rub when the opportunity presents itself.

After several sensuous minutes, having allowed all thoughts of resistance to melt away with the tension in my muscles, I finally forced myself to speak. It was an effort of will — Marcone had pressed and kneaded his way up my back and was currently working on my neck — and I was severely tempted to just shut up and let him get on with it.

“Marcone?”My voice sounded husky in my ears.

“Mmm?”Nimble fingers now traced over my scalp, running through my mussed hair and awaking a world of tingling sensation that I previously never knew existed. 

“Marcone, you’re...” My train of thought was derailed as he caressed a place behind my left ear that just made me— Focus, Harry, focus!I got myself back on track, which is easier said than done with _that_ being done to you.“Marcone, you’re.... giving me a_ massage_?”

I knew it was a stupid question as soon as I said it.But hey —sometimes it’s good to check that you’re not hallucinating yourself into dubious situations with morally bankrupt arch-criminals.Well, not that you could really trust a hallucination to tell you whether it actually was a hallucination or not...It’s the thought that counts, I suppose.

Marcone gave a little sigh and moved his hands back to my shoulders.I gasped, the sensation just on the right side of being overstimulating.“How observant.I see that your skills as a private detective aren’t wasted,” he said.I shifted slightly, but he pressed me back down into the mattress.“Your muscles are tied up in knots, Dresden — no wonder you have trouble sleeping.”

I inadvertently let out a moan: he’d hit a sweet spot at the base of my neck.I bit my lip to avoid any other such noises escaping before I continued speaking.“How are you so _good _at this? And why- why do this for me?”

I heard him breathe out a quiet laugh.Marcone then moved, shifting his weight forward so that he was over me, pressed against me, hands either side of my head.I could feel the heat of him, the firmness against me, the press of him against the small of my back.The cool chain of the manacles was caught between us, the skin of my back prickling with the cold of it. 

He spoke quietly into my ear, breath feathering against me.“Why do this?” he murmured.“_Because I want to._”

I went very, very still.I could hear the blood pounding in my ears and my suddenly ragged breathing.

After a moment that lasted for an eternity, Marcone pulled back.Voice back to his customary smug tone, he said, “Now do be quiet, Harry.This will be a lot easier if you’d just let me get on with it.”

As someone with as many issues with authority as myself, I then did something that was very out of character: I followed Marcone’s advice and shut up.It was only later that I realised he’d dodged my first question.

The warm push of him against me, the electric thrill of being touched by unfamiliar fingers, now took on new meaning.The sensation was charged, tension practically crackling in the air between us.His touch on my skin, the whisper of the manacles’ cool chains against me: it was all just too much.I could hear Marcone’s breath as he kneaded my neck, shoulders and back, pressing into me and releasing a world of sensation that I hadn’t experienced for a very, very long time.

Yeah, it was probably a pretty bad idea.Hell, I was uncomfortable being on first name terms with the guy, but I was letting him touch me in ways so intimate and awkward and utterly wonderful.And— I allowed myself to be touched.I allowed Marcone to do what he liked as I lay pliant beneath him.The sensation of him tracing smooth lines against my skin felt like he was igniting a fire within me.My senses were attuned to him: I could feel every shift of his fingertips, the fine hairs on my skin standing to attention at the contact.I gasped and shivered and trembled as he made my senses sing. 

Suddenly, the warm push of Marcone’s hands against me was gone.I missed the contact instantly.“That’s your upper body done,” I heard him say, voice pulling me from my trance.

“Stars and stones,” I gasped, still lying there as if boneless.“If I’d known you were this good in bed, I wouldn’t have argued for so long about sleeping on the floor.” 

Marcone snorted at that.“From my experience, you never miss an opportunity to argue with me — even when to your own detriment.” 

I began to stir: now that Marcone was done with playing masseuse, I could begin the important task of erasing this particular episode from my memory.“You know me, John,” I said, “always happy to be the spanner in the works.Anyway, now this little pamper session’s over, we’d better get some sleep.” 

I moved to turn and sit up, but Marcone pushed me back down onto the bed. 

“I said I was done with your _upper_ body, Harry.I didn’t say I was finished.”

My pulse raced and I suddenly felt very hot.Words evaded me, the man’s sultry tone having about same effect on my power of speech as throwing a brick through a window. 

Until this point, Marcone’s touch had been had been restricted to my torso and above — as if there had been an invisible line he wouldn’t cross.His fingertips, which had been tracing gentle patterns on the small of my back, moved lower.They skimmed over my boxers — sending a shiver racing through me — before settling at the top of my thighs.He gently kneaded at he sensitive flesh there, the sensation reverberating through me. 

He leaned close to me, very, very close.I could feel his breath whisper across my ear and I was suddenly grateful that I was facing away from him — one look at my face and he’d have _known_.

“I am going to give you a choice, Harry,” he said, pressing a kiss against the sensitive flesh of my neck.“We are presently in a situation that could work to our mutual benefit.You obviously need to blow off some steam and — to be perfectly honest — so do I.Rather than wasting the night trying and failing to sleep, I have an alternative solution.”He moved his lips to the delicate skin on my ear, peppering it with kisses before licking along its shell.“We both want to get out of these cuffs, so why not share an enjoyable experience in the process.You already know I can make you feel good, Harry.”

Gods, had my name on his lips always sounded so good?I gasped as he moved to lay flat against me, his lithe body warm and firm against mine.I tried and failed to distract myself from his hot breath in my ear, the insistent pressure against my ass and the answering tightness in my own groin.The walls of my resistance were beginning to shake— they would come tumbling down if pushed. 

He went on, grinding seductively against me.“No one else has to know.It’s only us here.What’s the harm in one night?” 

Murphy’s warning suddenly came back to me: ‘_Be careful, Harry._’Irrationally, I wondered whether she knew that Marcone had planned this all along.Murphy.What would the knowledge of what I was about to do — about to agree to — do to her?

But any thoughts of Murphy were swiftly swept away by the movement of Marcone’s hips.The sultry voice in my ear, the warmth of his body against me and the man’s hardness pushing against me made it impossible to dwell on anything than the sensations I was being bombarded with.

I finally managed to bring myself to speak.

“One night?” I said, voice husky.“This would be a one time thing?”

Marcone pressed a burning kiss against my throat, clearly aiming to leave a mark.The sensation of his teeth against such a vulnerable spot caused heat to twist deep in my belly.“If you want it to be, yes,” he said.“I know that you’re longing for companionship and, in the present circumstances, I can provide it.But it’s your decision, Harry.”

There was a loaded pause. Marcone began to press gentle kisses along the line of my jaw.

He knew my answer, he’d known it from the moment he’d felt me shiver and gasp beneath him.But this was Marcone.The man loved his power plays, and this was an elaborate game to him.And, just this once, I was going to play along.

“_Yes_,” I said.“One night.”

Marcone gave one of those mirthless little laughs of his, smug bastard. “Oh?And do you realise exactly what you are allowing me to do?”

My temper flared.“Well, John, I think I got the general idea when you ground your cock against my ass.If you want me to sign a freaking contract, then you can fuck the hell off.”

I was cut off by Marcone suddenly bearing down on me, voice whispering in my ear and hardness grinding against me.

“I am going to use that mouth and body of yours as I see fit, Dresden,” he said, his tone more passionate than I had ever heard before.“I am going to touch every inch of you, lick every inch of you and — when I’m done — I’m going to fuck you.I’m going to fuck you and you are going to love every second of it.But my question is, will you let me?”

I turned my head to the side, breathed deeply once, and nodded.His white teeth flashed in the dark. “Good choice, Harry,” he said before leaning over to capture my lips in a kiss.

* * *

The main thing I remember about that night is the heat, the warmth of our tangled limbs as we writhed and twisted on my sweat dampened sheets. 

Our remaining clothes had been long since thrown to one side, a distraction against the raw need that pulsed through us both.Languid sensuality had been replaced with a fervent ardour.My pale skin was peppered with the marks of John’s affection: he had been true to his word and bit and licked and savoured every inch of my exposed flesh. 

John’s tongue in my mouth, his hands running through my hair, the sensation of his manhood against my own: it was just too much.There was an urgency to his actions that resonated within me, making my head spin and my body to yearn for his embrace. 

I knew things were moving far, far too fast, but I just couldn’t bring myself to care.I was too distracted with the smooth downward glide of his hands; the shivering cold of the chain on my skin; and the sensation of his nimble fingers slipping into cleft of my ass. 

I inhaled sharply.“John,” I said, “we should-“

“I thought I already told you to be quiet, Dresden?”Marcone smirked down at me as his hands continued to touch and tease.“Why don’t you keep that mouth of yours shut until we can find a better use for it?”

I flushed at the implication, mind’s eye suddenly flooded with images: on my knees before Marcone, his hand holding my jaw as he fed me his cock — lying on the bed with John looming over me as he pushed into my ready and waiting mouth. 

I’d be lying if I said that a part of me wasn’t darkly tempted by such imaginings.Submission, total submission, can be sexy as hell — the idea of being Marcone’s bitch for the night was one that equally repulsed and fascinated me. 

As I fought with the conflicting desires rising within me, John’s exploration of my body continued.His searching fingers and soon touched upon my entrance.I inhaled sharply at the sensation, back arching.

John pulled back to look down at me.He ran a hand through his tousled hair.Forget the designer suits, nakedness suited him just fine.‘Debauched’ beats Armani every time in my book. 

“In both of our interests,” he said, “is there anything to ease the process in that bedside table of yours?” 

Sex with Marcone had apparently melted my brain as well as my pride.“Huh?” was my illuminated response.

He sighed.“Lubricant, Harry.Do you have some?”

Mortified, I nodded.I sat up and started rummaging through the top draw — vigorously enough so that my Mickey Mouse alarm clock nearly took a tumble to the floor — before handing Marcone what he wanted.

He surveyed the bottle.“Unopened,” he observed.“It’s nice to see that you were prepared for my visit.”

I scowled at him, but a customary smart alec response evaded me.Having Johnny Marcone maintain smouldering eye contact as he popped the bottle cap _with his teeth_ can do that to a guy.The man was desire personified: he looked at me as if he was about to devour me whole.

“Get on your hands and knees, Harry.”

I didn’t need to be asked twice. 

I could hear him move, feel the bed shift as he positioned himself behind me.Never before had I felt so deliciously exposed.Slick fingers slid against me and I felt a pressure against my opening.Although the liquid was cool against my skin, it ignited a fire within me.I _burned_ inside.

The first digit pushed inside, my back arching in response.It felt strange: a welcome intrusion, a delightful discomfort.As the finger pushed inwards, causing me to gasp and shudder, Marcone touched upon something deep within me.My cock throbbed and I nearly came then and there.

Marcone laughed, pressing remorselessly against the bundle of nerves.I trembled and moaned beneath him. 

“If I’d known that doing this would make you so compliant, Dresden, I would have done it years ago.”He slipped a second finger in — I practically yowled in response.“You always talk big, but you’re not particularly threatening on your knees with my fingers stretching you wide open.” 

I glared back at him over my shoulder.“And _you’re_ not fooling anyone,” I growled.“Just admit that you’ve been dying to do this all evening.”

He flashed white teeth at me.“All evening?” he said.“Harry, I’ve wanted to do this from the moment we met.” 

My eyes widened in surprise, but just then he slipped a third finger inside, derailing my train of thought.Although the sense of discomfort intensified, so did the electric pulse of pleasure.It ran throughout me in a steady beat, following the tempo of Marcone’s fingers as they thrust and thrust and thrust into me.It continued like that for a while, until I was wet and ready and gasping for him. 

Finally, the fingers were removed.Just as I was about to snap at him — to scream at him — to just get the hell on with it and just _fuck me already_, I felt him move once again behind me.

The next sensation that assaulted me stole the very words from my mouth. 

Strong hands held my hips in position.Marcone laughed gently, placed a scorching kiss against the top of my thigh and then... _and then..._

His tongue was against me, in me, working me open.The wetness of it, the warm sweeps against me and the sweet pressure as it pushed inside — it was just... _it was just..._Well, it was surreal.I had Johnny Marcone, mob boss of Chicago — a man who never missed an opportunity to sneer and mock and deride me — between my thighs and fucking me with his tongue.It made my cock throb and head spin in equal measure. 

I gasped, biting back a moan as I felt his wet tongue dip inside my tight ring of muscle.“What the fuck, Marcone?!” I half yelled.

He pulled back for a moment.“No need to be shy, Harry.We both know you like it, so why lie?Which do you prefer, Dresden, my fingers or my tongue in you?” 

When he continued, I gasped and shuddered uncontrollably.I was nearly overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensation, but was held firmly in place by Marcone’s strong grip.

Gods, the man was insufferable! “If you keep doing that, I swear to the gods that I’m going to-Damn it, Marcone!Just ease off, will you?”

I instantly felt the loss the wet heat of his tongue, but I don’t think my pride would have ever recovered from coming within two minutes of having _that_ done to me.The man was a master of blissful torture.

Suddenly, I felt something push against my opening.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Harry,” he said, pressing the tip of his cock against my hole.Mind fogged with desire, I found myself instinctively pushing back against him.Marcone just laughed and pulled away.“Are you sure about this Harry?Do you want this,” he ground against me and I nearly whined from the sweet pressure, “inside of you?Although I’ve been looking forward to this for a long, long time, I want the feeling to be mutual.” 

My aching need made me impatient.“I thought I already told you, bastard,” I snarled.“Just shut the hell up and get on with- ah!”

As I’d been speaking, Marcone had plunged into me in one fluid movement.I cried out, clawing at the sheets.

The man was relentless: he gave me no time to adjust before fucking me with smooth, confident thrusts.The sweet slide, the ache of it, the delicious sensation of fullness: now this was sex — this was raw, visceral, debauched sensuality as I’d never experienced before.

Heat curled in my belly as Marcone reached around to pump my cock in time with his thrusts. 

“_Oh, the things I want to do to you, Harry,_” he breathed against me as I moaned and shuddered.“_The things I want to do to you and that mouth of yours_.”The grip on my hips intensified, and I writhed in his grasp.

His lips were back on my neck, biting and sucking, sure to leave a mark.I didn’t care though.My world had narrowed to the thrust of Marcone’s hips, the heat building between my thighs, our tangle of limbs and sweat damp flesh. 

Suddenly, Marcone pulled out.He twisted me in his grip and, just like that, we were face to face.His eyes, the colour of faded dollar bills, locked on mine as he pushed back into me.He fucked me in short sharp thrusts, moving closer to capture my lips in a fervent kiss. 

It was all too much.I didn’t even notice the manacles clicking open as I came.I’d forgotten all about them.All I cared about was my own shuddering release and the echoing burst of heat deep within me as Marcone reached completion too.

I flopped back onto the bed, totally spent.

Now, the details from here are a little fuzzy — trust me, the expression ‘fucked senseless’ is a _thing_. I might have imagined it — like I said, my memory from here is hazy — but I thought I felt the soft sensation of a hand stroking my hair. I couldn’t remember the last time I had experienced that particular feeling. It was so very gentle, kindling half forgotten memories from years long gone by. My father, Elaine, Susan: this was a feeling synonymous with the people I had loved, who had loved me, and I had long since lost.

So, of course I must have imagined it. _There was no way that... Marcone could never..._

Could he?

* * *

When I woke up, Marcone had already left.Bright sunlight streamed through my tiny bedroom window and near blinded me as I blinked my eyes open.

The manacles, of which I was now apparently free, had been left on my bedside table.Beside them was a handwritten note.The paper was familiar: it had been taken from the pad I keep by the phone.The handwriting was neatly precise and I could see what looked like a series of numbers clearly inscribed at the bottom. 

The message was as follows:

“You still talk in your sleep, Dresden.If you want to know what you said, you’ll have to discuss it with me over dinner.My personal number is at the bottom of this note.

Keep hold of the cuffs.You should bring them along to our next meeting.

P.S.

I used your toothbrush.Bite me.”

I couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh or scream. Would the world ever again contain such a smug, self-satisfied and _infuriatingly attractive_ bastard such as the esteemed Gentleman Johnny— 

* * *

“—Mister Marcone, good afternoon.”

“Ah, Miss Gard.”

John Marcone was sat behind his mahogany desk in his central Chicago office.The sun gleamed off the polished surfaces, filling the room with a pleasing light. He put down the document he had been reading — a report on the financial viability of a prospective business venture — to meet the steady blue gaze of Sigrun Gard.

“Did the artefact function as you had hoped, sir?” she said, moving towards the desk to deposit a fresh pile of paperwork.

Marcone took up the new papers, surveying them with a calculating gaze.“Perfectly,” he said.“I left them with Dresden — I thought they made a fitting gift.” 

Gard’s eyes widened slightly and there was a barely perceptible pause before she responded.“Are you sure that is wise, sir?Those manacles are one of a kind.It took Monoc Securities some time to source them — as well as considerable expense on your part.”

Marcone waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t concern yourself, Miss Gard,” he said. “They served their initial purpose and I’m sure they will continue to prove useful.” There was a pause and, although his money coloured eyes were fixed on the documents before him, there was now a wicked glimmer lurking in their depths. “Why don’t we find something _new_ to help keep Dresden busy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I wanted to invent a whole back story where Marcone’s mother was a masseuse... but I think that’s better off existing in my head rather than anywhere else.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading! This was a blast to write — the chemistry between those two is fabulous — and any comments or kudos you are kind enough to leave is very much appreciated. 
> 
> Bye for now, folks!


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